


lost and found

by SkyeDragonDraws



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, suicidal ideation tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeDragonDraws/pseuds/SkyeDragonDraws
Summary: Lost will be Found. Lost will be Found if it kills them.
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & Nailmaster Oro
Comments: 36
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosmeerSpots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmeerSpots/gifts).



> hi wonwan and hk stans discord peeps! love u both! <3
> 
> also surprise spot! you got me back on my brokey bullshit so this one's for you

The world was stillness.

The world was darkness.

The world was comfortably cool. 

And the world was not much else. 

There were siblings, and the currents of the void would send them swirling around each other, but compared to the screaming brightness and sweeping, _scorching_ colors of Her dreamscape, it was _nothing_. 

Found was at peace, in a way they hadn’t been for a very long time. There was no burning, here with their siblings, there was no singing, there was no _light._

The siblings swirled around each other, whispered voidvoices creating a comforting cacophony of noise.

The void was a still pool, swarming with tiny shades that darted through the shadow like minnows. It was so _calm_ , and _nothing hurt._

Found could stay like this _forever_ , in the comfortable embrace of the void sea, buried so deep that the surface was like a half-remembered nightmare. The surface's memory of them would fade with time; any impressions they'd made on the world would be swallowed by the comforting embrace of the void. 

Nobody would search for them, nobody would _find_ them.

They were truly, fundamentally, _s_ _afe._

Their eyes began to slip shut, and slowly, they curled up, covering their closed eyes with tendrils of void. 

They spent much of their time like this, adrift and dozing, blissfully close to mindlessness. Siblings would occasionally wake them, to join in games of racing about, or even prod Found to join them in the piles of sleeping siblings that would form.

Found liked those, enjoyed the comfort of their siblings resting against them, reminding them that the light could never find them here, not so far below the surface, but they also enjoyed the quiet of being alone. 

The void stirred. Not uncommon, as of late, although the first rumble had sent the siblings into quite the tizzy. Now, they knew that the thrashing of the sea would settle soon enough, and that although the current might buffet them around, or even begin to pull them all together, they wouldn’t be hurt. 

Even as the void began to grow more and more energized, it was nothing compared to the roaring light and noise Found had spent so long trapped in. It did not bother them, not enough to make them uncurl, or look around. 

Suddenly, the void around them _screamed._

**SIBLINGS! PUT OUT THE LIGHT!** **_PUT IT OUT!_ **

Found snapped upright, twisting and turning as the rush of siblings pulled them along. 

Siblings swirled tighter and tighter, and suddenly they were _one._

It was big and terrifying and they had too many arms and too many eyes and too many horns. The air around it burned golden and metallic and they held the blazing light and they _tore_ _Her_ _apart._

They were _not_ Found, they were Lost, one voice among a sea of voices that all wanted _outOUT_ ** _OUT-_ **

And then suddenly they were _out_ and the world was both too small and too large, every sensation simultaneously crushing them to a pinpoint and stretching them so thin they might snap. 

And then they did snap. The world rocked crazily, and as one their siblings _screamed,_ and then _dove._

Found followed - or they _tried to._ There was a pull, a tug, dragging them away from their siblings, away from the void, away from _safety_ and _comfort_ and _rest_ -

*

The first thing they noticed was _splitting_ pain in their mask. It felt like their head was broken in half, and it made their arms shake. They couldn’t see out of their right eye, and the vision in their left was fuzzy at _best._

They gathered their hands under their chest and tried to raise their head.

_Mistake._

The ground wobbled beneath their shaking arms, and they lost their grip and collapsed to the floor. Their head _smacked_ against the rough stone, and sickening pain shot through them.

They convulsed, hacking up a mouthful of infection and bile. The too-sweet taste spilled from their mouth into their raised hand, and with no small amount of horror, the realization hit. 

They were _Lost._

_No._

_Nonononono_

_Not again. Not again, not again, notagain_ **_please!_ **

Frantically, despite nausea and pain, they pushed themself into a half-sit, grabbing at the hilt of their old nail for support. 

The motion jolted their head, sending sickening dizziness swirling through them. Lost heaved again, and infection dripped down the blade of their nail. Their hands shook, and their claws were chipped and raw against the handle as the disgustingly orange fluid burned their throat and dripped down the chin of their mask. 

They closed their eyes tightly, squeezing out a few gloppy tears. The burning in their now-empty sockets abated, and the vision in their left eye was nearly back to normal when they opened it. Their right eye was still dark, and judging by the _splitting_ pain in their head, it would stay that way. 

Skittering sounds made them whirl around. Their feet stopped, but their head didn't, and they nearly fall over. After regaining their balance, they squinted. Small… moving… **_orange…_ **

_Lightseed._

They flared their wings and they raised their nail and they _stabbed._ The instantanteous pain following that sudden motion blinded them, but they still felt the burn of the splatter against their carapace. 

Dead. It was _dead._ It would not burrow into their aching head, scrape against their mind and offer Her the strings to make them a puppet. 

Lost shuddered, expelling more infection. Their mouth hung open and lose as they spat, and their wings twitched with the urge to escape. They needed… _out._

They needed to get back to their _siblings._ They needed to get back to the void, out of the light, out of the sickly-sweet stink of infection rotting and away from the pain of their broken body. 

Using their nail as a cane, Lost pushed themself all the way to their feet. They could not rely on mere luck to become Found again - they’d have to _move._

Legs shaking, they hobbled down the hallway. Their head lolled, and they felt like they would topple over at any moment. The weight of their nail made their arms shake, but they could no go on without its support. 

They stopped, for a moment, leaning their shoulder against the rough wall. Their cloak dragged at their feet, both grounding them and threatening to trip them at any moment.

Lost heaved again, coughing frantically. Every motion hurt their head, but they _couldn’t stop_. Their hands wobbled on their nail and they slumped against the wall, desperately trying not to fall over. 

If they fell right here, right now, while they had so far to go?

They wouldn’t get back up. 

Their heaving slowed, and although the taste of infection burned the back of their throat, they no longer felt a heaviness in their gut. 

They needed to keep going.

Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone.

It became a repetitive rhythm, drowning out the slow ticking of time. They weren’t aware they’d reached a change in their path until their nail hit a different type of rock. 

Lost looked up, and was met by rows of gleaming spikes. Dully, they realized the spikes stood between them and their siblings. They’d have to get over them, somehow. 

Their wings were slow to emerge, having been folded tightly away after the lightseed scared them. They were stiff and achy, with thin membranes that were tattered at the edges, and the veins were stained with infection. Moving them _hurt,_ but falling on the spikes, being Lost to their siblings forever, would hurt _far_ more. 

Carefully, they brought their wings forward, seeing if their back was together enough to perform the motions of a flap. 

It _hurt,_ but it seemed the infection hadn’t focused on eroding those muscles. They could still… _flap._ They could flap. Flapping and flying were two different things. With their head, with this disorientation, would they be able to fly? 

Well, there was one way to find out. Lost braced themself on their nail and crouched, clenching the hilt tightly in their hands. They’d _need_ their nail if they made it across this. 

Lost _leapt,_ bringing their wings together in a mighty downstroke. Their feet left the ground without complaint, and for a moment, everything was okay. 

Then the pain caught up to them. The world spun on its axis, their back _screamed,_ their head felt like it was splitting in two. Their vision whited out, flickered several times, and they only truly began to see when their view was clouded by the ground up to meet them. 

The hollow sound of mask meeting stone rang out. 

Lost _wailed._ Silently, of course, for they couldn’t produce a single sound, but their mouth hung open and their hands spasmed, claws dragging harshly against the rough ground. Their wings twitched erratically as their entire body convulsed, the pain making them sick to their stomach. 

Eventually, with _excruciating_ slowness, the agony faded to a manageable level. Once again, Lost gathered their arms underneath themself, the pain from their broken claws and raw wings mere droplets in the flood of suffering that was their head. 

It hurt _so bad._

  
Tears welled in the corner of their working eye, and they fought the urge to break down here and now. 

They couldn’t cry, they couldn’t collapse into a sobbing mess. They needed to get to the void. They needed to rest with their siblings. They _had_ to. 

Lost was going to be Found if it _killed_ them. 

They pushed themself up, slowly turning their head to look for their weapon. Something dripped down the side of their mask. It didn’t burn, it wasn’t infection, so they paid it no mind. 

Their nail was lying in front of them. Not far. They could reach it. They _had_ to reach it. 

Their arm trembled as they forced their hand out, but Lost managed to grab the weapon and push it under themself. 

Standing was _hard._ Their knees wanted to crumble out from underneath them, and it felt like the floor was putty beneath their feet. They threw up again, the sharp motion sending splitting pains radiating through their skull. 

They _had_ to keep going. They _had_ to. They would _not_ be Lost forever, they _would not._

Once more they spread their wings, once more they crouched to fly. 

Once more they took off.

Once more they lost control. 

This time, it was light glancing off razor-edged spikes that greeted them when their vision returned. Panicking, they flapped again. Shaky and imperfect - they hadn’t been so bad at this since they were still new to having wings - it sent them tumbling forward. 

They landed with a solid _thwack!_ and were immediately overwhelmed by the worst pain they felt yet. 

It came in waves, rocking them to their core. Their vision fuzzed and whited out, returning so sporadically that opening their working eye only made Lost’s head hurt _worse._

Finally, _mercifully,_ the pain receded enough for them to think about something other than breathing and trying not to soundlessly scream again. 

Lost rubbed their horn with one shaking hand as they slowly folded their wings back under their cloak. The delicate membranes were coated with dirt and dust and they could _feel_ strips of infection dangling off them, but they didn’t have time to stop and groom them into an acceptable state. 

They had to get _back_ to their _siblings._

Their nail was closer this time, and they got their feet underneath themself with minimal difficulty. 

Once more, the repetitiveness of walking overtook them. 

Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone-

_Voices._

Voices, sounds, _bugs,_ right where they needed to _be._

Bugs that _saw them_ \- 

Adrenaline overtook Lost. Their nail was slung acrossed their back, their wings flared, and they _leapt,_ sinking their claws into the soft stone of the Ancient Basin. 

The voices grew louder, no doubt alarmed at the sudden, violently quick motion of this strange freak of nature. Normal bugs (with one _single_ exception, one exception Lost had spent a very long time trying to forget) _do not like vessels._

Fear slowed the world as Lost climbed, flapping their wings and jumping up the wall. _Gogogogo!_

The climbing was as methodical as their walking, if only _much_ faster and fueled by panic and adrenaline instead of painful stubborness. 

Sink claws into stone. Kick off wall. Downstroke. Sink claws into stone. Kick off wall. Downstroke. Sink claws into stone. Kick off wall. Downstroke-

Lost landed on the top of the platform, going straight from an unsteady glide into a stumbling run. Automatically, they focused on a small light source. A hole, lined with metal, leading _somewhere else._

They jumped, downstroked twice, and caught the edge of the platform in their claws. Their wings fluttered frantically for what little boost they could provide as Lost hauled themself up.

They stood still, for a moment, hands shaking as they tried to slow their breathing enough to listen for the sound of being followed. 

Slowly, their shoulders drooped, and the familiar tickle of fear began to leave them-

“-up here, do you think?”

_OH WYRM THEY HAD BEEN FOLLOWED._

Lost whirled around, adrenaline surging from the tips of their toes to the ragged edges of their wings. Their nail thumped against their back as they scrambled forward, barely aware of where they were going as they darted through a small doorway. 

It was only after they looked around they realized they’d made a _mistake._

They were in a small space, lined with two rows of seats. The only door was _in the direction of the bugs._

Frantically, Lost backed away from the rapidly approaching sounds. They whipped their head around, ignoring the building migraine. Cornered, they were _cornered,_ they were so _stupid-_

Their foot caught on the edge of their cloak and they _tripped._ Their back slammed into a wall, but their windmilling arm hit something with _give._

The dead ancient tram rattled, throwing them off the wall and into a heap on the floor. 

Lost curled up, throwing their fragile wings over their head in a futile attempt to shield it. Their nail clattered against their cracked back as the floor shook. 

Suddenly, with a _lurch,_ they began to move. 

The voices faded into the background, and Lost let out a sigh of pure _relief._

Then, the consequences of pushing their broken body so far caught up to them. 

Lost _shook,_ no longer with fear but with the most _pain_ they’d ever felt at once. 

Every bit of their damaged body that had been used in their escape made its displeasure loudly known. Their wings twitched uselessly as they desperately tried to breathe and scream and sob until it _stopped hurting._

_Please, please they hurt so much so bad they didn’t know how they were going to make it to their siblings now_ -

The tram stopped with a sudden jolt, forcibly rolling them over and sending their nail clattering away. 

Lost _howled_ as that jostled their head, squeezing their eyes shut tight. 

_Please… stop… let it_ **_end…_ **

But they weren’t lucky enough to be Found in death. Slowly, achingly so, the pain abated, and they were able to roll back to their feet and crawl to their nail. 

They hobbled out of the tram, and found themself somewhere all too familiar. 

They didn’t. They _didn’t want to be here._

They had _left._ They didn’t want to _come back._

For a moment, Lost debating lying down and letting the next thing that came by kill them. 

No. No. They _couldn’t_ they had to _keep going._

Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. 

Light bloomed in front of them.

Lost looked up, fighting the urge to flinch away. They were greeted by a sea of bubbling acid. The air above it was dotted with booflys, platforms, and primal aspids. Faintly, they could see a tunnel on the other side. 

The tunnel. That’s where they needed to go. 

Once more, Lost braced themself with their nail and spread their wings. Once more, they leapt and flapped. This time, their landings were smoother, and they were able to stay mostly upright as they leapt from platform to platform.

Acid sizzled and popped beneath them, scorching the edge of their cloak, but Lost managed to keep from burning themself as they made their way across the river in short hops. 

The tunnel loomed closer and closer, and then suddenly their feet met stable ground. 

Close. They were _close._ They didn’t _want_ to be close, they weren’t _welcome_ here. 

They weren’t welcome anywhere else, either. 

They settled their hands on the hilt of their nail and let the monotonous pain of walking take over their mind once more. 

Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. Raise nail. Nailpoint in stone. Two steps forward. 

**_THUD._ **

Lost stumbled backward, desperately trying to keep their feet from sliding under them. Ash whirled around them from the force of the impact. Frantically, they looked around, and near-instantly, they _spotted_ it. 

A great hopper. Big, terrifying, and _hard to kill._

This one, however, looked to be nearing the end of its life. Its eyes were dull, and it was missing a leg. Its stomach was limper than a usual one - was it starving? 

They didn’t have time to think about it. In a blink, their nail was in their hand, and they were crouched in a familiar stance. Pain meant nothing to a warrior. Survival was their only goal. 

The dance to decide who was predator and who was prey was short but grueling. It took every ounce of Lost’s skill to dodge the hopper’s leaps, and their vision was near-double when they got _lucky._

The hopper slipped, toppling over on its side and exposing its stomach. 

An old, old memory took over, and the sound of a _slash_ rang throughout the clearing. The hopper was dead- its stomach sliced open down the middle. 

Lost took a step back from the dead creature, their nail still coated with its infected blood. 

Or rather, they _tried_ to step back. 

Their knee buckled, and they topped over, landing prone in the ash. 

_They were down. They couldn’t get up._

_Lost had to keep going._

Even if their legs couldn’t support their weight… they still had arms, right? 

Their claws sank into the soft ash as they hauled themself forward. Their nail lay discarded behind them, the weight too heavy to bear. They had to keep going forward, they _had_ to. 

Lost didn’t know where they were going anymore. They would be buried in ash, slowly crushed to death like so many siblings before them. A fitting death, a _peaceful_ death, compared to slowly burning away until every last scrap of their being had been turned to dream dust. 

Peaceful rest with their siblings seemed like a foolish dream now.

They pushed their arms underneath them. Their back _screamed_ , and then suddenly Lost couldn’t hold themself up any longer. 

Ash billowed into the air as they collapsed, their wings fluttering weakly. They stretched out their hand in a futile, final plea. 

They were going to be Lost forever, and there wasn’t a single thing they could do about it. 

Their hand clenched, unclenched, and then went limp. 

Ash buried them, coating every bit of carapace in oily, greasy rot. Their world was white, and nothing else. 

Faintly, they heard a rhythmic rustling, like footsteps, and then they heard no more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Bad Things Happen Bingo: Struggling Against Caretaker**

The world was white. 

The world was loud.

The world was  _ unbearably heavy.  _

And the world was not much else. 

Ash coated them, blinded them,  _ drowned  _ them. They couldn’t move, they couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t  _ think.  _

They were trapped, they were  _ Lost,  _ and they wouldn’t be  _ Found.  _

They wouldn’t be  _ Found  _ ever again. 

Ash shifted, settled, and shifted again. Rhythmic and monotonous, roaring and drowning out any and all sound. 

The surface world seemed so  _ achingly  _ far away. 

Dully, they noted a distant thudding noise. It was barely audible, between the pain and their head and how tightly they were curled. 

The noise grew louder. 

Lost shuddered, panicking surging through them. They weren’t safe, they had to get  _ up,  _ but they couldn’t even muster the will to do more than twitch. 

They needed to get  _ out,  _ they needed to move, they needed to  _ go _ -

But they  _ couldn’t.  _

Ash shifted around them, and something brushed their side. They shivered, flinching away, attempting to burrow deeper into the ash with what little strength they had left. 

They did not make it far enough _.  _ Something  _ bit,  _ something  _ dragged,  _ and suddenly they were only half-buried and flailing frantically. 

Agony pulsed through their head and down their back as they rolled over and dug their tattered claws into something soft. Infection gushed down their arms, burning at their chitin and forcing them to release their grip.

Lost collapsed back onto the ground, curling up and covering their head. They flared their wings to appear larger, the thin membranes sending ash billowing into the air. 

They flipped over, forcing their arms underneath themself and digging their hind claws into the precarious surface of the ash. Their head  _ ached,  _ fiercely, and their vision fuzzed as they lurched forward. 

Lost didn’t know where they were going (not that there was anywhere  _ to  _ go, it was all ash, ash, ash, leaving a sickly, rotting taste in the back of their throat and clogging their claws and dragging at their cloak) and they didn’t know how they were going to  _ get  _ there. 

That problem solved itself in short order - they didn’t manage more than a few short scrambles before one of the great hopper’s forelegs pierced their wing and pinned them to the ground. 

Chitin scraped against stone and rot as they were dragged backward, and pinned underneath the hopper. Lost’s claws scrabbled uselessly against the floor - they felt tips breaking off, but the blind adrenaline-fueled panic allowed them to keep scrambling, even as the hopper tightened its grip. 

The hopper shook them, violently, and then  _ slammed  _ them into the ground. 

With an audible  _ crunch _ ! Lost went limp, stunned.

White flurried, blinding them.

Between the pain and the fact that the world was slipping away, it was no surprise they barely registered the sound of an unsettlingly familiar  _ swish-thud! _

They shuddered as the leg  _ tore  _ free of their wing. The world fuzzed around them, the sickly white of the ash graying and sliding into an unsettling black. They couldn’t feel their wings, their arms,  _ anything _ beyond the dull throbbing of their cracked mask, but they were aware enough to feel it when something picked them up.

Something soft and familiar brushed against their horn, a hand settled at the base of their wings, a feeling of safety and  _ comfort  _ they desperately fought against.

And then Lost felt nothing more. 

*

Footsteps. A hurried rhythm. Fabric brushed against them.

They were so tired,  _ so  _ tired. It felt like moving, even to relax the tight grip of their claws, would be too much. They could not bring themself to fight this. 

Lost clenched tighter, and allowed the darkness to overtake them once more. 

*

Lost awoke to the feeling of somebody carefully binding their claws together. Their other hand was already wrapped in fabric - their fingers were bound in a mitten-like shape, but their thumb was free.

Trapped. They were  _ trapped.  _ Trapped was  _ bad,  _ and they needed to get  _ out.  _

They clenched their hand into a fist and  _ wrenched,  _ twisting their whole body to break free of the iron grip around their wrist. 

Normally, they would be able to roll, be able to pull away and spring to their feet and grab their nail and protect themself. 

Today, a hand landed squarely on their chest, and an all-to-familiar voice growled out: “Be  _ still,  _ kid.”

Oh no. Oh  _ no no no no  _ they were  _ not  _ back here in this  _ stupid  _ hut with this _stupid_ nailmaster who _doesn’t want_ _them_.  _ Absolutely not  _ they were not  _ back here  _ they had  _ left  _ and they had  _ meant it.  _

They had  _ meant it.  _

Lost narrowed their working eye, and braced their free hand against the one on their chest. They weren’t just going to  _ lie down.  _

“You’re not going to win in a test of strength, especially not when you’re like this.” 

They went limp, sliding towards the edge of the bed. Oro let go of their wrist to steady them, and in a flash, they used both hands to shove them out of his grasp and into the corner of the bed. 

“Get back here,” Oro scolded them. 

They curled up tighter, pressing their back against the wall. 

“Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Lost flexed the claws on their half-bandaged hand, cutting through the wrappings there, and then deliberately sliced through the bandages on their other hand. They glared up at Oro, and very slowly crossed their arms over their chest, ignoring the pain of the scorched chitin rubbing together. 

Oro’s eyes darkened, and he uncrossed his arms. “ _ Last chance _ , kid.” 

They hunched their shoulders, and pressed further into the corner, flaring their wings and kicking the blanket away with their feet. 

“Hard way it is.” 

They didn’t get any more warning before Oro leaned forward, expertly sliding one hand under their legs and catching their hands before they could scramble further.

Lost wasn’t quite sure  _ how  _ exactly it happened, but less than a second later, they were sitting in Oro’s lap with his arm wrapped around their front, firmly pinning them. 

They growled - a low rumble that could only be  _ felt,  _ but Oro was close enough to feel the vibration in their chest. Wiggling was futile - they already knew that once Oro had something, he wouldn’t let go until  _ he  _ wanted to let go from hard-won experience - but they tried it anyway, before slouching forward to sulk. 

“Let me see your hands.”

Their claws scratched against his leather gloves. 

“ _ Kid. _ ” This time, there was a note of warning in his voice. 

They narrowed their eyes, but stuck their hand out and allowed Oro to grab their arm once more. Their claws were too brittle to do anything anyway. They weren’t losing anything, Lost assured themself as Oro mittened their hands, because they didn’t  _ have  _ anything to lose. 

They were  _ Lost,  _ forever, and they weren’t getting their siblings back. 

When Oro finished wrapping their hands, they slumped forward. Exhaustion pulled at them, and their head still felt like their shade was trying to  _ claw out of it.  _

Lost waited, for Oro to push them out of his lap, for him to be  _ done  _ with them. 

(He should have been done with them.  _ They  _ were done with them.) 

Instead, Oro gathered Lost in his arms, and settled them in the bed. By the time he’d pulled the blankets up around them, they were asleep. 

*

**_sibling… oh sibling… lost, aching sibling… come home… come home to us…_ **

*

Lost started awake, bound hands clawing desperately at the heavy blankets resting on top of them. 

Their breath escaped them for a moment, as they took in the familiar rafters and thatched roof of the nailmaster’s hut. 

Right. They were here again. 

They pushed the blankets off and the feeling rising in their throat down. On silent feet, they slid off the bed and scanned the room -  _ there!  _

Their nail, old and battered but still useful, hanging on the wall. 

Their steps were light on the packed dirt floor as they reached for their weapon. Their hand closed around the hilt, and they drew their nail off the wall in a familiar motion. 

A cough sounded behind them. Lost jolted,  _ harshly,  _ and their nail clattered to the ground. They whirled around, coming face-to-face with Oro.

“And where do you think  _ you’re  _ going?” 

Defiantly, Lost pointed towards the door. 

“Absolutely not. Bed.  _ Now _ .” 

  
  


They glared at him.  _ No **way** were they getting in that bed _ _,_ they tried to convey. Keeping eye contact, they reached down and slung their nail over their back. 

Nerves no longer dulled by sleep or adrenaline activated, and it was all Lost could do to keep from flinching as they sheathed their nail. 

“ _ Kid. _ ”

Lost pointed again. They were going  _ out.  _ They were going to  _ find their siblings,  _ and they were going to  _ be Found.  _

Oro sighed, running his hand down the center of his mask. “Fine. You know what?  _ Fine.  _ If you can keep from falling over on your way to the door, you can  _ leave. _ ”

Lost narrowed their eye. That felt…  _ too easy.  _

Maybe he was just glad to be rid of his most irritating houseguest. 

They made it three steps before their knees buckled. Their claws met the floor and their arms gave out and the hard dirt rushed up to meet their mask-

Oro caught them, folding them easily into his arms. He plucked Lost’s nail from their back, and rested it against the wall once more.

They resisted the urge to cling to his cloak like a grubling as he walked across the hut and settled them in the bed once more. They waited for him to leave, but instead, he sat beside the bed and rested a hand on the covers. 

Lost rolled away from him, turning to face the wall. They curled up as tightly as possible, flaring their wings to hide their face from him. 

“Kid…” 

They had to get back! To their siblings! They didn’t want to be Lost any more! They wanted to be Found! They were so  _ tired  _ of being Lost and alone and in pain, they just wanted to  _ rest  _ with their siblings! No more burning, no more light, coat their eyes and mind and body in shadow and let them  _ sleep.  _ No more pain in their head, no more destroyed, aching wings, no more bandages wrapped with too much care, too much  _ kindness.  _

No! More! Of! This! 

“Kid, stop.” 

Lost flinched as a large, strong hand covered their own, firmly pulling their chipped claws away from their head. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Stop _. _ ” 

So what? What was a little more pain on top of everything else? If they were born to die,  _ let them die!  _

They tugged at their hands, ignoring the pain in their back and the gradual tightening of the fist. Let them go! Let them  _ go,  _ or hurt them! They don’t  _ care!  _

“ _ Be still! _ ” 

Lost flinched  _ violently,  _ but continued tugging. Their wings twitched with the stress of it, but they couldn’t stop, they couldn’t they wouldn’t they  _ wouldn’t,  _ they were-

Suddenly, they were in the air, pressed firmly against Oro. Their hands buried in the ruff of his cloak, their head resting in the crook of his arm. Their wings were folded neatly against their back, and they weren’t in danger of falling. 

Lost sank their claws into the soft fluff, and  _ pulled,  _ as best they could, but it was ineffective. They were trapped, as surely as they’d been when they were in Her grasp. They were trapped, and he was  _ mad,  _ and there was no  _ escape.  _ They just wanted to join their siblings, please, just  _ let them rest.  _

“Kid, you  _ can’t  _ do that,” Oro snapped. His hands were shaking, they realized suddenly. “You’ll really,  _ really  _ hurt yourself. I get it, you’re frustrated and you’re mad at me for not going after you when you left. I should have, and I’m  _ sorry,  _ and you’d be right to be absolutely furious, but you’re not going to  _ get  _ anywhere by hurting yourself.” 

Lost curled their fists tighter, feeling the raw and frayed edges of their claws digging into the rough, calloused void of their palms. They remembered earning those callouses, nail swings repeated over and over, biting into the wooden training pole. 

“ _ Kid… _ ” Oro’s voice cracked.

They continued, clenching their fists until their palms bled void into his cloak ruff. 

He sighed. It was such a defeated noise, the kind of sound they didn’t even know he was  _ capable  _ of making. They didn’t know it was  _ possible  _ for him to make such a sad, defeated sound. “I know it means nothing to you, and it  _ shouldn’t  _ mean anything, but I looked when you didn’t come back.”

He did  _ what?  _

They didn’t just slip out of his life, forgotten? He wasn’t  _ glad  _ they were gone?

He had cared enough to  _ look?  _

Lost stopped moving, and released their hold on Oro’s cloak, going limp in his arms.

“Are you going to stop pulling at your bandages?”

They nodded.

Oro settled them back on the bed, and moved to go.

Before they even realized what they were doing, they snagged his cloak with their claw. 

“... kid?” 

Maybe they didn’t  _ need  _ their siblings to be Found. 

Maybe they didn’t  _ have  _ to slip away into mindlessness for existing to be worth it. 

Maybe… 

Found looked up at Oro, and reached out a trembling hand. He took it, with surprising gentleness.

Maybe they could be Found by him. 

They would be ok with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl this did not exactly turn out as i wanted it to! but. i got it done, and i'm very proud of myself for that.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
